After love,
you stand,
a glorious nude
at my bathroom sink
and I lean languorously
in the doorway
watching your ablutions.
Water cascades off
your private flesh,
white framed in porcelain,
dissolving our mingled essences.
I envy the blue terry washcloth's
intimate touch
as white, papaya-scented soap
rises to foam under your hands,
only to be rinsed away,
taking the glazed traces
of our lovemaking with it.
Taking a towel from the bar,
you turn toward me and smile.
Iridescent droplets glisten,
caught in dark and silver pubic gardens
and I, an unrepentant voyeur,
am caught too
and sigh like fallen angels,
held by the sight of you
naked and renewed,
Glory standing
in perfect erotic tableau
at my bathroom sink.
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